


Hold this moment, never let it go

by WildWolf25



Series: Pidge Ship Week 2017 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Autumn Aesthetic, F/M, Fluff, High School AU, Nostalgia, Pidge Ship Week 2017, They're just cute and in love and happy, autumn is coming and it made me nostalgic, it's not a high school AU without a little bit of marching band AU thrown in, this is v self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWolf25/pseuds/WildWolf25
Summary: “If you could build a time machine, what would you do with it?”  He asks, looking up from their robotics project.She pauses in her work.  “Depends.  Will using it cause a paradox?”“Let’s say no.”“Hm,” she thinks about it.  “Not sure.  You?”“I’d go back to sophomore year, the third football game of the season.”  Hunk smiles.(Pidge and Hunk work on a project together and reminisce on how they met)Written for Pidge Ship Week, day 5: time





	Hold this moment, never let it go

**Author's Note:**

> Only touches on it briefly a bit, buttttt… (in this AU) Shiro and Hunk are on drumline (tenor and bass drums, respectively), Pidge plays clarinet, Lance plays trombone, Allura is the color guard captain (best section, woot woot), and Matt plays saxophone (he picked it because he thought it would help him pick up chicks. In reality he can’t get three measures into the sexy sax song without breaking down laughing, and if you’ve never heard someone laugh into a saxophone you are missing out on life). Coran is their ever-suffering band director who just wants his kids to march a proper eight-to-five and to stop throwing grass at each other (and he used to march trumpet himself, and can play a number of instruments)

There is something about autumn days that makes them seem magical.  Maybe it’s the way the leaves begin to change, right when they burst into fiery color and before they turn brown and fall to the ground.  Maybe it’s the way the air cools, almost becoming tangibly crisper, but not quite cold enough to bring with it the first bite of winter.  Maybe it’s the softness of warm flannel and wool as people start layering up, or the concentrated warmth of holding a mug of hot cocoa or apple cider in gloved hands.  Whatever it is, Pidge loves this time of year.  

“Are you using that wrench?”  She asks, pointing at the one next to her boyfriend.  The two of them are sprawled out on the floor of the garage with the door open, working on their project for their robotics unit of their science class at school.  

“Nope, all yours.”  Hunk hands it over, frowning down at a couple of wires.  

“Thanks,” she presses a kiss to his cheek as she takes it.

“Babe, I’ve probably got engine grease all over my face.”  Hunk shakes his head fondly.

“So?  Still handsome.”  She shrugs, tightening a wingnut on the robotic car’s side.  They work quietly for a few more minutes, passing each other any tools they need, before Hunk speaks up again.

“If you could build a time machine, what would you do with it?”  He asks, looking up.

She pauses.  “Depends.  Will using it cause a paradox?”  

“Let’s say no.”  

“Hm,” she thinks about it.  “Not sure.  You?”  

“I’d go back to sophomore year, the third football game of the season.”  Hunk smiles.  

Pidge looks up, arching an eyebrow.  “I had no idea you were so into football.”

“I don’t really care about the game,” Hunk chuckles.

Pidge thinks about it.  “Hang on, was that…?”

“The football game where you dumped a slushee on my lap?”  Hunk smirks.

“I  _ tripped  _ and it was an  _ accident _ …” Pidge bristles defensively.  “I  _ apologized _ !”

“You did, profusely.”  Hunk laughs.  “Didn’t stop Coran from banning the marching band from buying food on the job.”

“I was not the only person responsible for that ban.”  Pidge points a wrench at him.  “Lance was the one who got popcorn stuck in his trombone mouthpiece, on two separate occasions.”  

“And he got his slide stuck in Allura’s hair, which is why the trombones can’t stand next to the color guard anymore.”  Hunk chuckles.  “Not that that has to do with food.  I just like remembering the desperate scuffle on the field that ended with Allura walking away with a brass slide in her hair and Lance having to fake-play for the rest of the show.”  

Pidge snorts in amusement.  That moment will live in Altea High Marching Lions’ history forever.  She reaches for a set of pliers.  “So, why that game?  Are you just a sucker for getting slushees dumped in your lap?”

“No,” Hunk smiles.  “I had been pining after you for months but was too shy to say anything, and that was the first day you actually noticed me.”  

Pidge pauses and looks up.  “You make it sound like I was ignoring you.”

“No, no, I know you weren’t.”  Hunk leans over their robot to kiss her nose.  “I was just painfully shy and too afraid to say hi to you.”

“I still find it hilarious that you find  _ me  _ anything remotely close to intimidating.”  Pidge laughs quietly.  

“ _ Found _ .”  Hunk corrects.  “That was only until I found out what a huge nerd you are.”  

“I hung out with Shiro, Allura, and my brother at band practices, how could I not be?”  Pidge snorts in amusement.  

“What about you?”  Hunk asks.  “What would you do with a time machine?”  

“Hmm…” Pidge thinks about it.  She leans back on her hands and looks out the open garage door.  A gust of wind blows sweeps through the trees, rustling drying leaves and knocking a few loose.  She looks back at Hunk, watching her with a dopey smile as his fingers twist a couple wires together expertly.  “I’d pause this moment,” Pidge says finally.  “And make it last forever.”

Hunk blinks, then a small smile spreads over his lips.  He leans across their project to kiss her cheek and ruffle her hair.  “Sap.”

“Only for you.”  Pidge musses his own hair up, grinning wryly.    

**Author's Note:**

> Two things.  
> 1: the trombone-slide-caught-in-a-color-guard-member’s-hair incident was a real thing that happened to my friend.  
> 2: Lance would 100% refer to himself as a “trom-boner”, only semi-ironically.  
> (I lied) 3: marching band is the best, GooOOooOOoo C-A-T-S, CATS CATS CATS!


End file.
